Down On Love
by born2lead
Summary: Three weeks has passed since the end of the Revolution. America is gone and England is devastated. In hopes of comforting his friend, France drops by. What could be his intention? First story on FanFiction. Hope you like it.


The rain had finally stopped and his skies were uncharacteristically clear and sunny. Unknowing citizens attempted to pick up the pieces and find normalcy again; to start anew after the devastation caused by the war. The world continued to turn and time kept ticking away.

He sat in his study, looking out to his beautiful London but seeing nothing. He couldn't think; he couldn't feel. He just sat, no more tears left to shed.

_From now on, consider me independent!_

It kept playing over and over again in his head like a never-ending loop. He felt a ball of despair form in his throat as a single tear—his last—slid down his cheek.

_I thought we would be together forever._

Three weeks had passed and he still couldn't move. His little America had left him. The only person to love him and care for him; the only person that mattered, and he was gone.

_It's not fair!_

He repeated to himself, holding fast to the last of his sanity.

He had ruled the world. He had countries and territories alike firmly in his grasp. He was the fucking British Empire! But it had all been ripped away in the midst of the revolution. He was completely alone.

Again.

_Knock knock knock_

The abrupt sound echoed throughout the enormous foyer, eventually making its way to the ears of the fallen Englishman. He stirred, finally looking away from the window. With a deep sigh, he stood, finding his knees weak and wobbly. He took a careful step, then another, and another. He slowly crossed the study, still unsure of his abilities.

Suddenly, his leg gave beneath him, and he fell to the floor. Lacking the strength to lift himself, he stayed crumpled on the cold wood. He heard a soft _click_ followed by quick footsteps and knew his visitor had let himself in.

With power he did not have, he pulled himself to a sitting position. The footsteps had stopped, leaving a sense of dread in the Brit's stomach.

_Knock knock knock_

"Angleterre ?"

_That bloody frog!_

Despite his rage, he remained silent in hopes the Frenchman would leave.

"Angleterre, open up. I know you're in there."

So much for that plan.

"Go away! I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to talk to anyone!"

His voiced was weaker that he intended, wavering towards the end.

"Just leave me alone."

He cringed as his voice cracked. He knew how he must have sounded. Pathetic. Weak. Broken. And he was. He had worn a mask for so long; a mask of apathy and strength. But that, too, had been taken that day in the rain.

"England, I know you are hurting. I do not want you to harm yourself further."

Silence.

"Arthur, please."

At the sound of his human name, he groaned, hauling himself to his feat. With shaky legs, he walked the rest of the room, throwing open the thick, mahogany door. He opened his mouth to yell, fire in his eyes. But when he saw the sympathy and worry emanating from those all too familiar cerulean irises, his resolve cracked.

Leaning against the doorframe, he hung his head, waiting for the inevitable teasing to begin. Instead, a pair of strong arms enveloped him. A surprised gasp escaped his lips as his face turned tomato red.

"G-get off of me, frog!"

The French nation quickly retracted his arms, stepping back and averting his gaze.

"Désolé, mon ami. I—"

He took a deep breath and continued.

"I want you to know that you have a shoulder to cry on. I know that you do not like me very much, but I have been where you are. You feel like your heart has been torn to pieces; like you cannot go on. Nothing matters anymore."

England's eyes widened as France voiced the emotions he had been experiencing since America left.

"**You can't get down on love…**

**You know you're not the only one**

**See I've been down on love"**

He slid down the wall as the door swung to. He closed his eyes, holding back the tears that were threatening to fall. France knelt beside him and put a soft hand on his shoulder.

Oh, how England longed for that mask now. The thought of anyone—especially France—seeing him so weak, so broken, only sent more tears to his eyes.

"It hurts…so much."

He hid his face in his hands as the tears began to flow, streaking his cheeks. France maneuvered out of his cape and draped it around England's shaking form, pulling him into his chest. Lacking the power to protest, the Englishman latched onto France, his fingers entwining with the expensive fabric.

France froze as his heartbeat accelerated. Then, a small, sad smile pulled at his lips, and he started to rub soft circles into the shorter nation's back.

Suddenly, England stiffened. Slowly, he lifted his head, his tear-stained face contorted in confusion and anger. Emerald met sapphire in an unspoken battle.

"Why aren't you teasing me? Not even a snide comment. I'm a bloody mess, and you have absolutely nothing to say?"

The snarl slid from his mouth as he raised his defenses.

"That is hardly what you need right now."

The reply was short and sweet, but it did not answer England's question.

"Why are you being so damn nice?"

France shied away at the force in the question. He looked anywhere but the man sitting in front of him, searching for the words he had been longing to say.

"**Now you say you've got a broken heart…**

**Dry your eyes 'cause your heart's gonna mend**

**And maybe tonight you'll fall in love again"**

The Frenchman brought his hand to England's cheek, reluctantly wiping at the tears. The Brit stared, dumbfounded, as France's fingers lingered, cupping his jaw. Before he could discourage himself, France swiftly pressed his lips to England's in a soft kiss. He pulled away quickly, smiling sweetly.

"**But you're wrong, so wrong**

**To be down love"**

The whisper was barely audible, heard only by the two men outside of a lonesome study.

Finally, England regained his ability to speak, sputtering and turning a light pink and putting a few feet between them.

"W-what?"

"I love you, Angleterre. I have for centuries."

The Brit gaped, putting more distance between him and this alien man. He seemed to have forgotten how to stand, continuing to crawl backwards.

"N-no. Y-you can't love. You're a lustful, annoying, perverted—"

He was cut off as France abruptly closed the space and grabbed England's wrists, keeping him in place.

"I can and I have!"

His smile was gone, replaced by a heavy frown. His cerulean eyes had misted over with unshed tears.

"I have loved so hard it hurt! Lust: it is all an act. I tease, I manipulate; just so you would talk to me. I long to hear your voice, to see your emotions. And if the only way is accompanied with harsh words and a red face, then so be it."

His voice wavered slightly as he released the Englishman, averting his gaze.

"I only hoped that one day, you might see me as more that lustful, annoying, and perverted."

England placed a quick kiss on France's lips, leaving him gaping this time. He cupped the Frenchman's cheeks, looking deep into his sapphire orbs.

"How have I not noticed before?"

France flashed his usual cocky grin.

"I am a wonderful actor. Je suis étonnant !"

The Brit proceeded to punch the arrogant bastard in the arm.

"Aïe !"

He chuckled, holding his throbbing bicep. His face suddenly softened.

"England, you are a beautiful person. You do what you feel is best for your citizens, even if that includes pushing others away. You are admirable and strong. I love you."

England pushed on the wall he did not realize he had been resting against. He pressed his lips firmly to the Frenchman's. It began soft and sweet, quickly developing into a kiss of passion and desire. England's fingers brushed through France's golden flowing tresses as France ruffled England's unruly blonde locks. Hundreds of years of sexual tension finally lifted.

France eventually pulled back, breathless. He could not hold back the smile that spread across his face as he gazed into those amazingly green eyes across from him. England seemed just as oxygen-deprived, but neither cared.

Then, his visage turned solemn.

"France, promise me something."

"Anything."

"Don't ever leave."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

England smiled, wrapping his arms around the taller nation's neck.

"I love you, you bloody frog."

~oO::Oo~

**French Translations**

_Angleterre: _England

_Désolé, mon ami: _Sorry, my friend

_Je suis étonnant: _I am amazing

_Aïe: _Ow


End file.
